


I Don't Even Know What I Want

by Maraculate



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Be The Hero You Needed, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Minor Character Death, More Hurt Than Comfort, Theft, They're 30, Thief, venting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 02:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16030787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maraculate/pseuds/Maraculate
Summary: "Someone's been stealing my flowers. When I confronted them about it, they said..."





	I Don't Even Know What I Want

**Author's Note:**

> AKA as the story where I give Jeremy and Michael unlikable personality traits. More Michael than Jeremy, though.

Michael never noticed it firsthand, but he did eventually see that his garden was shrinking.

 

No, it wasn’t weeds. It wasn’t bugs. It wasn’t the weather. All three had been accounted for, and besides, what phenomena besides theft made flowers completely up and vanish?

 

It was annoying, to say the least. So was the weather. The skies had been sobbing like a baby the past week, and while Michael enjoyed watching the cool New Jersey rain drip, drip down into the drain, it wasn’t fun standing in the middle of it, questioning where the  _ Hell  _ his flowers were.

 

Sure, some people would probably laugh at him for getting so aggravated, but they were his moms’ flowers. They let him live with them despite him being thirty, so doing the chores around the house was the least he could do. They insisted they were fine, but Michael didn’t have any of it. People said that made him responsible, Michael just responded that it should be expected. He had gotten significantly less lazier since high school.

 

Michael was pretty sure that he made a personality shift after he graduated high school. He had six friends. In order of when he became friends, it was: Christine Canigula, Richard Goranski, Brooke Lohst, Chloe Valentine, Jake Dillinger, and Jenna Rolan. The other people he didn’t like, didn’t care about, or didn’t remember. Sometimes, all three.

 

But back to his original question, who was stealing his shit?

 

The missing flowers were marigolds. Warm colors that contrasted with the dim grey lighting and clear rain that stormed down almost every day. He wasn’t crazy enough to do work outside, so he went to his job, cleaned, cooked sometimes, and watched crappy TV with his parents. They insisted he put himself out there, and he did try. He dated a nice guy named Joe for a while, but it didn’t work out since Michael just got bored and uninterested. Joe agreed, and they remained friends. 

 

One day, a man in a black Seattle hoodie leaned over his garden. 

 

“Hey, what the Hell are you doing?” Michael came outside in his own hoodie. The man froze and held up the uprooted Marigolds in surrender.

 

Michael stomped over, willing to at least hear him out since he didn’t bolt away. The man had dull green eyes and red marks all over his face. He had short brown hair that matted against his forehead and he looked really skinny and pale. His jawline was sharp though, and his thin lips resigned themselves to a neutral expression. He was only an inch shorter than Michael which was impressive. He was six foot two.

 

“Hi, Michael.” The man fiddled with the marigolds and his eyes darted everywhere.

 

“Who are you?” How did he know his name? “How do you know my name?” 

 

He didn't react to the biting tone. "Jeremy. Heere."

 

The quiet kid from his class? Michael suddenly found himself regretting the school shooter jokes he made under his breath whenever he saw him by himself in the hallway or at lunch. God, he was an asshole in high school. Didn’t he post something about Jeremy cutting himself in junior year? Fucking Christ, now he felt bad. He should, but it was still a feeling he resented and almost got angry at Jeremy for. 

 

Michael relaxed and Jeremy sighed quietly. 

 

“Can you tell me why you’re stealing my flowers?” Michael asked.

 

Jeremy froze up like a deer in headlights. “I guess you deserve an explanation.”

 

Michael tilted his head. “What?”

 

“My dad passed away. Cancer. Lots of it. He refused treatment because he’d rather more than survive his last days. He was weird.”

 

Well, fuck.

 

“I’m really sorry. So… why my garden?” Michael pointed.

 

“Dad liked marigolds. They don’t sell them around here, so I found myself coming here for the past week just… grabbing them. Sorry about that, by the way. I’ll stop. I should probably stop, anyway. I read somewhere that constantly visiting a grave had something to do with not being able to move on and shit.”

 

Honestly, Michael never talked so sardonically in his life. Defeated would be an understatement when describing his tone. His eyes were filled with so much apathy that Michael thought the rain got colder. 

 

“Move on on your own time. Er, when you want to. Come inside, okay?” Michael pulled him into a tight hug. It was wet and cold, but the meaning was still behind it. Jeremy didn’t hug back. He instead awkwardly pulled himself out of it.

 

“Thank you, but… I should probably go home. Relatives will probably want to come over. They think being rich is a consolidation or something,” Jeremy murmured. “They’ll probably try to take me to Costa Rica to get me to cheer up. Like running away will make me less fucking angry.”

 

“At least take an umbrella. My parents aren’t home right now, so you’re not intruding anything,” Michael promised.

 

Jeremy bit his lip. “Okay.”

 

Michael led him inside and took his hoodie, despite his protests. He wore a faded Pink Floyd t-shirt. Michael threw their hoodies in the wash and pulled out some water. Also, some tissues and ham and cheese sandwiches from a day ago.

 

Jeremy sat on the couch, twiddling his thumbs and sighing once, maybe twice. Michael’s house wasn’t much, but he looked at it with fascination. Family photos and art from his moms’ friends were everywhere. They stuck out against the crimson wall and their flat screen TV was currently on the weather station. It wasn’t going to stop raining for a few more days. Afterwards, it would be humid and then later, sunny and dry for a while.

 

He took out his phone a minute after Michael brought him the food. He muttered a ‘thank you’ and nibbled on the sandwich. Little did he know that part of the reason why he invited him inside was to repent, at least a little bit. People were like that. It was a shitty thing to do, but people like Michael weren’t soft and pure all the time. Maybe around his parents, but a lot of his reasons for helping others almost always included a personal satisfaction for himself. A feeling of arrogance, almost. He squashed it down, but every time that intrusive thought came into his head, he wouldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t.

 

“When my sweater is done, I’ll leave. Inviting me inside was more than I expected, so thank you,” Jeremy said, his eyes not meeting Michael’s.

 

“Give me your number,” Michael demanded gently. Jeremy looked at him, his eyes slitted and confused.

 

“Why would you-”

 

“So you can call me if you ever just want a friend,” Michael interrupted. A weird feeling was in his chest. 

 

Pity. A flash of self-fulfillment. The tiniest amount of regret. 

 

“You’re forcing yourself,” Jeremy replied. His tone wasn’t accusing or rude. It was neutral and controlled.

 

“I’m having weird feelings about this,” Michael admitted. “I honestly want to help, but… it’s hard to explain.”

 

“The least I can do is listen.”

 

“Okay, then. I’m wondering if I’m forcing myself to help you because it’s just pity and guilt residing in my chest.”

 

Jeremy didn’t look shocked or offended. Did he not care? Or was he just focusing on the fact that Michael helped him, no matter his reasoning?

 

“Why the guilt?” Jeremy asked after a few moments of silence.

 

“High school.”

 

Jeremy nodded with understanding. “I get it. If it makes you feel better, I don’t remember anything you said or did, specifically. I don’t resent the bystanders. There were worse things that happened. Remembered the infamous end-of-year overdose?”

 

Right, Dustin Kropp drugged Jeremy. Xanax or something. He nearly died. Dustin was expelled, at least. That made the last week of his high school career Hell, though. People booed at him during the graduation. Michael was actually appalled at that, and he did try speaking for him, but he got quickly drowned out by the ambient noises.

 

“I remember.”

 

“Let’s just say that, right now, I’ve got bigger baggage in my suitcase than anything from high school.”

 

“What are you doing now?”

 

“I’ve played minor roles in Broadway. I’m not as bad off as I make myself out to be. People automatically assume me to be a charity case and basket case and every kind of negative case in this language,” Jeremy replied.

 

“Do you want another hug?” Michael asked him, his face extending a bit with the shock painted on his face. Michael’s heart actually started hurting for him. Any insecurities he felt were cast outside because Jeremy needed help.

 

“I got plenty of those at the wake. I’m not a woobie.”

 

“Asking for a hug doesn’t make you a woobie. People need hugs. It’s science.”

 

Jeremy let out a laugh. Not exactly a kind laugh. More like a sneer. “What science says that?”

 

“The computer science major.”

 

“Right,” Jeremy nodded. “Listen, I don’t ask people for hugs. It’s not who I am. I accepted them because I kinda had to at the wake. Mom left a while ago, oh God, why do I keep doing that? The more I tell you, the more freaking pathetic it sounds. I’m not trying to sound like such a depressing bitch, but it’s like trying to swim in the opposite direction of a river,” Jeremy started getting annoyed for the first time. Which is to say, that was the first bout of emotion that he showed.

 

“I don’t think what you’re saying sounds pathetic. You’re not a depressing bitch. Your dad lost his life and your family sounds shitty, from what I’ve gathered. I think you’re underreacting.”

 

“That’s a new one,” Jeremy scoffed. 

 

Michael opened his arms. He gave Jeremy a knowing and slightly annoyed look. Jeremy sighed, scooched a bit towards Michael, and leaned into the hug. Michael scooted closer, too, and kept a tight grip on him. People said he gave good hugs, so it was time to put that to the test.

 

“I don’t feel comfortable crying into your arms.”

 

“Alright.”

 

“I don’t feel comfortable just crying, period…”

 

“That’s fine, too. Everyone’s got their copes.”

 

“I don’t feel comfortable at all.”

 

“A lot’s happened, not to understate it.”

 

“I haven’t cried yet. I’m too scared to.”

 

“You don’t have to trust me. You should cry, though. It releases a pain-relief chemical. Not crying will just damage you more. You can use my bathroom if you want some privacy.”

 

“You’re warm,” he said, changing the subject.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“I don’t know why I’m scared.”

 

“Humans are irrational. Self-destruction is almost an expectation with a lot of them.”

 

“You don’t mind this?”

 

“Even if I did, I would still keep hugging you.”

 

Jeremy cleared his throat, “Why can’t he come back?”

 

Michael half-expected that question. “I don’t know. I don’t know why it happened. I’m so sorry.”

 

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. It was the cancer’s fault.”

 

“I could never imagine what exactly you’re going through.”

 

“I miss him.”

 

“That’s okay,” Michael whispered. “Hey, do you know what my parents do whenever I’m depressed as Hell? Sad? Whatever?”

 

“What?”

 

“They sing. Apparently, it lets the emotions out or something.”

 

“That sounds horrifically stupid.”

 

“Let me try, then. It may not be Broadway-worthy, but I’ve done coffee house performances and crap.”

 

Jeremy fell silent. He was pretty much in his lap at that point, his chin on Michael’s shoulder. The rain pattered against the door incessantly like a vampire who was denied.

 

“If you’re lost and alone, or you’re sinking like a stone. Carry on~,” Michael sang. He laid back on the couch and Jeremy didn’t move much besides extending his stilt-like legs. Michael never let go of him. “May your past be the sound of your feet upon the ground. Carry on~,” he continued. “That’s all I remember.”

 

“Heh. You’re funny, at least,” his laugh was dry. “Not that your song was bad, either.”

 

“Guess the song didn’t work, though. I can always try another song.”

 

“If you sing that stupid ‘you are my sunshine’ song, I’m shutting my ears.”

 

“I can always try another song.”

 

Jeremy sighed and shuffled in Michael’s grip. There was nothing passionate about their embrace. It was just a guilt-ridden person doing his best for another person who somehow got lonelier as time went on. 

 

“I can’t cry. I’m too scared,” he repeated.

 

“What are you scared of?”

 

_ “That I won’t stop.” _

 

His voice broke again. Michael didn’t feel his shoulder turn damp, so he wasn’t crying. How weird was it that he was trying to make him cry to help him?

 

“Look, Michael. I’m not like those book characters who preach how death is an illusion or whatever. I’m not a priest who believes that Heaven is waiting for me, I’m Jewish without any clue of what it actually entails. I’m not a wise person who can make a philosophical quote about new beginnings and one door closes, another one opens. People like that are full of shit. I’m just sick of being angry and wondering why the house felt so empty the last week.”

 

“And you can’t let it out because you’re scared. Scared of it all turning worse after you cry. Scared of losing your head. I think I get that much.”

 

“Something like that, I guess.”

 

“Well, I don’t know what else to say besides the fact that I’m right here. I’m not fake. I’m not here to judge. I’m just ready to share a burden, even if it’s just a fragment.”

 

“You know little about me, though.”

 

“I’ll get to learn more. We’re friends now.”

 

“Right now, it’s a bit parasitic.”

 

“Why, because you’re asking a friend for help? Real parasitic of you. How dare you ask people you’ve established a bond with for support?” Michael scoffed. He petted Jeremy’s clumped locks.

 

The dryer went off. Michael barely remembered putting the hoodies in there. Jeremy sat up, his face tired and sickly.

 

“At least let me drive you home. You look sick.”

 

“I’m not. I’ll take a shower later.”

 

“Jeremy.”

 

“Michael,” he challenged.

 

They had a tense stare-off. Michael gave in and held out his phone. “You’re putting your number in.”

 

Jeremy sighed. He listened and handed it back. Michael gave him another quick hug goodbye and Jeremy nodded curtly.

 

But before he went back out the door, he turned back at Michael.

 

“Your help was… nice.”

 

He left.

 

Michael stood in his empty house, the ambient light dulling his features. He was surprised at himself for letting Jeremy go. 

 

But then he wondered if there really was anything he could’ve done. He did his best, sure, but sometimes, people couldn’t take help. Jeremy had to work through issues on his own before Michael could actually help in a way that would ameliorate the cold reality Jeremy had been thrown in.

 

The next day, Michael had a knock on his door. His parents were sleeping, so he opened it and saw Jeremy standing with a dull look on his face, the temporary sunlight somewhat brightening the features.

 

“You okay?” Michael asked.

 

Jeremy shook his head. Almost ashamedly so, he stuck out his phone.

 

_ 'I lost my voice after crying myself hoarse.' _

 

Michael looked back and saw tears build up on his face. He let them go and his face contorted and there was nothing pretty about he cried and there were heavy tears and loud strangled sobs that came out of his quivering mouth and Michael found himself holding Jeremy before he even processed doing so. His face looked even more red and Michael led him inside the living room to sit down, still never letting him go.

 

“D-Don’t go. Please don’t go,” Jeremy had a bit of spit fly out of his mouth. Michael shushed him and silently whispered promises. He whispered so many reassurances that his own voice hurt and he wasn’t even sure of what he was saying anymore. All he knew that Jeremy was crying and breaking down and that there was no way for him to really fix anything that was happening. Talks didn’t cure depression, love didn’t fix death, and Michael couldn’t help Jeremy because tragedy bore a mark on someone forever and all he could do was hold him while he suffered in a hundred complex ways.

 

“I am not going anywhere. I think I’ll stay right here. I’m not going anywhere. I will stay right here. Okay?” Michael needed to tell himself that as much as he needed to tell Jeremy.

 

Jeremy continued to cry. He didn’t, couldn’t, say anything to Michael. Eventually, he sat up and Michael offered him a water bottle. Jeremy downed it and rubbed his head.

 

“I’ve got your back, Jeremy.”

 

Jeremy just looked up at him with that pathetic look that defeated men gave their enemies. His head thumped against Michael’s chest and his eyes shut.

 

Like he said before, he wasn’t going anywhere. He did move around to a more comfortable position, though. 

 

“I’ve got you. It’ll be okay.” Michael wasn’t sure why he was telling this to an unconscious person. Maybe it was just to tell himself that Jeremy would be okay. His thoughts went back to the idea like his broken vinyl records. He found himself holding Jeremy tightly and let out a deep sigh.

 

What did he get himself into? He could’ve easily sent off Jeremy and wouldn’t have to deal with these flooding negative feelings that drowned out his normal thoughts. No, that was wrong. He would’ve probably found out eventually what happened to his dad because the universe was cruel like that and then feel even shittier. No, he did the right thing. He was doing the right thing. It wasn’t an obligation, either. It was his own choice, and he was choosing to help however he could. If it meant being a pillow, then it meant being a pillow.

 

The heavy rain picked up again outside as the sun burned in the distance.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you didn't read the notes I'm kind of Jeremy in this.


End file.
